There had Been Laughter
by Ruralstar
Summary: Missing scene for GA 5x19 "Elevator Love Letter". Callie's perspective of Owen's PTSD incident and the immediate aftermath.


Disclaimer: Grey's Anatomy is the property of ABC television, Shondra Rhimes and Co. No copyright infringement is intended.

There had Been Laughter

Callie Torres thought she knew what to expect when she agreed to be Cristina Yang's roommate. She was not looking for a best friend. Merely someone she could get along with and respect. She had a lot of personal baggage to deal with, which made the non-intrusive, emotionless Cristina a perfect choice. The passage of time proved that her initial assessment was not completely accurate. Some of Cristina's more abrasive traits did annoy—and concern—if she were being brutally honest. One of the worst was the inescapable fact that Cristina Yang did not laugh. Though Meredith might beg to differ given the wisdom of a past Callie had not shared. The woman Callie was familiar with smirked, rolled her eyes and snorted derisively. Snapped at the interns and smiled like a satisfied cat when they scattered mice-like beneath her withering glare. The arrogance was well earned Callie allowed, but clearly a social hindrance to the repressed Resident. Lately there had been a different, wholly unexpected expression on Yang's face. It softened her eyes and the lines around her lips. Made people pause and quirk a curious eyebrow or lean over to whisper in their companion's ear. Callie wondered if Cristina knew how obvious her attraction to Owen Hunt had become. She hoped not because the budding relationship was transforming her into a more compassionate person and consequently a better surgeon. Qualities she would need in abundance with Izzy's looming health crisis.

Still, Cristina Yang did not laugh.

But there had been laughter tonight.

Not wild exclamations or fits of hysteria that would override the music Callie and Arizona were dancing to in the living room. No, these were quiet tones. Low murmurs that somehow expanded into the silence between the tracks on the cds Callie played. Hunt's deep voice mingled with Cristina's and they laughed together. Genuine mirth that drew Callie's attention and made Arizona cover her mouth to stifle the adolescent giggles as they listened. The discovery made Cristina just a little more human and Callie enjoyed the sense of camaraderie she felt as a result.

Arizona left around midnight. They shared a soft kiss at the door and Callie drifted back to her bedroom with the lingering sensation of the blonde's fingers on hercheek. She savored the warmth that seemed to have permeated the apartment. The laughter had ceased from Cristina's room by now, but the low burble of the television persisted. That was familiar. Callie had lost track of how many times she had slipped into the bedroom and turned off the set. Tonight she would keep her distance and hope it was adequate camouflage if laughter led to something more sensual. Feeling vaguely jealous of the possibility of sex for someone other than herself, Callie prepared for sleep.

Hours later she stumbled from bed roused and irritated by the ruckus down the hall. Something made of glass fell and shattered, quickening her cautious steps. The sounds of struggle intensified as she arrived outside of Cristina's closed door. A second crash and her hand rose to rap lightly on the frosted glass. "Everything okay in there?" she asked, annoyance turning rapidly to fear as the seconds ticked by. The bed creaked and a queer, high pitched gasp slipped beneath the door. Callie licked her lips and turned the knob.

"Cristina! Owen!"

Five minutes later she stood in the kitchen still clutching the phone, which was beeping an incessant dial tone. Call Meredith was the first thought that had solidified as she watched Cristina scramble off the bedroom floor and run for cover in the bathroom. Not call the police or get the baseball bat they kept in the hall closet. No, call Cristina's person because despite all her training, Callie was suddenly and completely terrified that Owen Hunt had done something irreparable. The fear came next and nearly drove Callie to her knees. The sounds of Cristina's harsh coughs and sobs sent tiny shocks through her body as she turned and sprinted for the phone in the kitchen. She called Meredith and was completely unprepared for the screams that spilled from her lips. "Get over here! I think Hunt just tried to kill Cristina! Now, get over here, now!"

Callie turned off the phone and tossed it on the countertop. The flesh of her fingers was gray and stretched tight. She stared at them, mesmerized by the intermittent tremors as much as the color. "Get a grip, Callie," she muttered eventually. "You can't do a damn thing if you don't get a grip." She clenched the hand into a fist, frustrated that she had been unable to shake off the shock sooner than this. It would take Meredith at least another ten minutes to drive across town, even if she blew every red light in the process. As attractive as it sounded, Callie could not hide in the kitchen for the entire time. She glanced at the phone. Call the police? Have Hunt hauled out of here in cuffs and end his career before he could hurt anyone else?

Anger blossomed in Callie's chest. She pushed off the counter and strode purposefully out into the short hall. The sounds of Cristina's distress had eased and she could hear running water in the bathroom. Further emboldened, Callie entered the bedroom with a curse on her pursed lips.

Hunt sat amidst the debris on the side of the bed that faced the door. One knee was drawn up to his chest and his elbow rested on it. He did not acknowledge her when Callie stopped in front of him. Shallow, ragged breaths seeped out as he slowly shook his head. His free hand idly fingered a shard of broken porcelain, turning it over and over.

"Get up," Callie ordered, noting the bloody scratch marks on his neck. "Get out of this room _Doctor_ Hunt."

He flinched at the sharp tone and glanced up. Callie froze.

The reflected fluorescent lightfrom the kitchen painted his cheeks a ghastly grayish blue. His eyes were as vacant as window glass and yet somehow bulging with the same emotions that had turned Callie's insides to ice. She swallowed the cotton from her mouth, suddenly unsure of what seemed so obvious only seconds earlier.

Callie had dealt with abusers before. Her teen years were sprinkled with incidents of violence directed at her or her friends. Boyfriends, siblings, parents—betrayers of trust, visitors of pain couched in the guise of 'love'. As a specialist in orthopedics, she recognized intentional injury and was both repulsed and fascinated by it. The man staring up at her was not the same person throttling Cristina minutes earlier. Shadows tinged the blue eyes that could not meet her brown ones. Fear, horror and confusion slackened Owen's jaw and popped beads of sweat that trailed down his cheeks. Callie stiffened as the details of her first moments in the bedroom returned with unexpected clarity. Pity and a strange sort of awe raised the hairs on the back of her neck when she recalled Owen's disorientation. The word 'what' muttered over and over as he stared at his hands. Everything had happened in a blur of motion that flickered like scratched celluloid and stretched out frame by frame between heartbeats.

"Just…just get out of this room," Callie whispered. Owen climbed to his feet and wandered trancelike down the hall. His uncertain steps faltered in the doorway of the living room where he turned and looked back. Callie pointed adamantly to the couch. His dull eyes swung from her to the closed bathroom door. Callie shook her head and took a step closer, blocking his view with her body. Fear made it hard to breathe, a niggling sense of compassion kept her voice level. "Sit down, Owen."

His head jerked at the name. He turned away, swaying slightly as he walked into the room and sank down on the edge of the couch. Callie watched for several seconds until she was satisfied that he was not going to move. Turning, she knocked tentatively on the bathroom door. "Cristina?"

The water turned off.

"Cristina, I called Meredith. Are you… can I get you anything?" she fumbled.

"No."

The reply was unnaturally soft and raspy. Callie grimaced in empathy for the physical symptoms, though she was pleased to hear anything at all. Reluctantly, she turned away and went into the kitchen to retrieve two bottles of water from the refrigerator. A quick look at the clock confirmed that Meredith would be here in less than five minutes, barring an act of God. Callie sighed as she walked into the living room and turned on a lamp. The knowledge that she would not be alone for much longer did not bring the expected sense of relief. Meredith's purpose was singular, which was the reason Callie had called her in the first place. Owen's behavior flew in the face of everything circumstance implied, however. Callie looked at the bottles in her hand and then at Owen.

He had leaned back into the corner of the couch. His forehead was propped in his hand, a bloody scratch on his forearm now clearly visible in the lamp light. His jaw clenched periodically and his Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled to swallow what was clearly rising grief. Callie bit her lip. Something small and fragile was splintering before her eyes, chilling the air and burning her skin like wind-driven sand. She blinked away unexpected tears and placed one of the bottles on the table. Cracking the other, she sat down on the couch. Several inches separated them but she could feel the heat from his body. Smell the sweat—and the fear.

"It's open," she quietly explained as she held out the bottle.

He glanced to the side long enough to register what she offered, and then looked back at the floor as his fingers curled around the cold plastic. "Thank you." The words were barely a breath of air before he lifted the bottle to his lips and drained half of it in two swallows. The sounds of someone pounding frantically on the front door made them both jump.

"That's Meredith."

He nodded mutely as Callie rose to let her in.

"What the hell is going on?" Meredith demanded before even stepping over the threshold. "How's Cristina? Where is he? What happened for God's sakes?"

"I just…I don't know. She's in the bathroom."

"You don't know?"

"I was sleeping. They woke me up…I don't know, okay?"

"Nothing about this is _okay_!"

"I know…just…just go talk to her. He's in the living room."

"You didn't call the police?"

Callie shook her head, exasperated in spite of the situation. "Go talk to Cristina."

Meredith stormed past, stopping only briefly to stare at Owen through the doorway of the living room. She knocked on the bathroom door. "It's me…Cristina?"

The click of the lock reverberated through Callie's head. The door opened and Meredith walked through, closing it forcefully behind her. Callie stepped forward but did not intervene when Owen stood up moments later and entered the hallway. His broad shoulders were hunched, his breathing rapid as he leaned heavily on the door jam and knocked on the glass.

"Cristina, please…Is she alright, Meredith? I just need to know if she's alright…"

Gone in an instant were the professional Callie respected and the monster she had never imagined. She held her breath, stunned and saddened by the tears thickening Owen's voice.

"No, no, no. Cristina, no!" Meredith's words died away as the door opened.

Cristina was just visible over Owen's left shoulder. Her brown eyes were bloodshot, her skin uncharacteristically pale. She radiated an almost inhuman calm.

"I am so sorry. I don't know what happened…I don't…I don't know what happened…" Owen gasped and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry…"

"Look at me."

"I'm sorry…I can't…I…"

"Look at me," Cristina repeated. The timbre of her voice was weak, the tone of command underscored with compassion unmistakable. Behind her, Meredith grimaced and shook her head.

Owen swallowed audibly and looked up. The muscles of his back rippled as he tried, and failed, to stand independent of the wall.

"I'm fine, see. It's okay. You were asleep. It's okay, okay?" Cristina's arms slipped around his neck and pulled him close.

"I'm sorry…" Owen seemed to collapse into her embrace. Both arms enfolded her tiny frame and his body heaved with the sobs that tore from his throat.

"It's okay, I know. It's okay, you were asleep…"

He buried his face in her hair and Cristina responded by squeezing even harder. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay…" Her whispered assurances filled the eerie silence between each desperate gasp. He was a child and she was the whole world torn asunder. There had been laughter and now there were only tears. Callie turned away. Wondering how there could ever be anything more after this night, and certain that she would never completely understand what Cristina clearly wanted to forgive.

~THE~END~


End file.
